


Untouched

by iwannasteal_atimelord



Category: Doctor Who, Doctor Who (2005)
Genre: F/M, Fluff, Older Doctor, but with conflict, there is smut i'm sorry, young River
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2013-07-06
Updated: 2013-07-06
Packaged: 2017-12-17 21:02:51
Rating: Mature
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 3,114
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/871926
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/iwannasteal_atimelord/pseuds/iwannasteal_atimelord
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>"I want you always, in all ways. But… I don’t want you this way.” And her hearts erupt in pain.</p>
            </blockquote>





	Untouched

**Author's Note:**

> Hi there! This is my second fic, and I wrote a smut. (Don't tell my dad.) I'm still new at this, so I hope it's okay. Anyway, I hope you enjoy! (Also thanks to Shanti for putting up with me and always pre-reading for me, and Dulce for helping as well.) 
> 
> Title inspired by the song "Untouched" by The Veronicas.

Towering black stilettos give way to shapely, smooth legs. Her TARDIS blue dress falls mid-thigh. It is made of chiffon and ripples like water with every move she makes. Thick, silky straps drape over her shoulders, and down to the middle of her back, where the dress cuts out to show a generous amount of golden skin.  River evaluates herself in the mirror, performing a double, triple, quadruple check on her choice of attire for the evening. Satisfied with the way the low cut enhances her _assets_ , and the way the skirt gently caresses her curves just so, she decides that she is ready. She has things to do tonight, and at the top of her list is The Doctor.

After pinning up her curls and situating her makeup, she makes her way out of her room, and into the corridor, mentally preparing herself for what she intends to be a night of debauchery.

The Doctor is spinning his way around the console in his favorite suit when she saunters into the room. His glee is palpable, and River can’t help but smile and giggle a little at the way he moves. She thinks as she watches him, that The Doctor always exudes excitement and possibility. Just being near him fills her with an unfamiliar giddiness, and she doubts that she’ll ever tire of it.

He looks up after a moment of fiddling with some buttons that he probably has no idea how to actually use, and beams at her. His eyes take in her appearance, and she tries to hide her blush with a smirk when he nearly chokes as his eyes find her shoes. “See something you like, sweetie?”

His eyes snap up to hers and soften then, and he responds. “You are stunning, River. Truly radiant. It’s not nice to give old men heart attacks, you know.” Her blush is much harder to hide this time. “Well then, I guess it’s a good thing you’ve got two of them, isn’t it?”

She walks over to him, and he quickly sweeps his arms around her waist, planting a soft kiss on her cheek. This is early days for her, and she’s only been out with him maybe five or six times since all was revealed. He has been so chaste with her, choosing to show affection by holding her hand, or draping his arm around her when they’re out. He’ll kiss her, but never enough for her liking. She does not want to admit that she feels lacking. She worries that he is not in love with her the way that she is with him. At least, not this version of her. She might bear the name River Song now, but sometimes she wonders if she’s truly worthy of it yet, in his eyes.

She turns her head and just manages to catch his lips with hers, but he pulls away before she can deepen it. “Now, are you ready for a night of romance, Miss Song?” He says as he returns to the console and sets the TARDIS on her way. She laughs and leans against the railing, happiness pouring through her as she revels in the chance to spend time alone with him. He fills her stomach with butterflies, as if they are the stars of a clichéd film from the 21st century. They are stars, but they are not clichés. They are far too explosive for that.

“Where are we going?” she asks him, excitedly.

“Ah, well there’s this fantastic little restaurant in New New York, where they actually dim the lights so that you can’t see at all while you’re eating. It’s a marvelous sensory experience; one I think you’re going to love. Now,” he says, as he offers her his arm. “Geronimo.” And he gives her a wink that makes her hearts float right out of her chest, and into his hands. Her mind says this should terrify her, but her hearts say they belong there, and have decided to settle in for the long haul. She thinks her mind secretly agrees, as well.

 

~*~*~*~

 

They stumble breathlessly back into the TARDIS, both of them grinning like idiots. Dinner turned out to be more of an ordeal than expected, what with the sudden outbreak of tiny, bright orange aliens in the restaurant, attempting to recapture their escaped prisoner. He had been disguising himself as a bus boy. The Doctor resolved the issue of course; only to soon after end up running when River’s heel accidentally broke one of the warrior’s tiny weapons.

They laugh together with their backs against the TARDIS doors, adrenaline pumping through their veins, and River acts on instinct. She leans over, smashing her mouth to The Doctor’s, and pushing her body as close to his as possible. He flails at first, taken by surprise, before returning her kiss with equal enthusiasm, and finding his hands on her hips. He pulls back eventually, resting his forehead to hers and looking into her eyes with a small smile playing at his lips.  “And what did I do to deserve that?” He asks. “Everything.” She replies, and her lips find their way over his jaw, and down to his neck while her hands go to work undoing his bow tie.

“Uh… River?”

“Yes, sweetie?” She replies, lips still glued to his skin, her hands moving to strip him of his suit jacket and begin unbuttoning his shirt. 

“River, whoa, hold on now, slow down.” He gently tugs her hands away from his shirt, and she tilts her head up to look into is worried eyes.

“Oh… oh, I’m… I’m sorry, Doctor. I guess I just… I thought...” She mumbles out whatever words she can find, as the sting of rejection builds a stone into her stomach. She turns on her heel and speeds out of the room as quickly as her five-inch heels will allow her to.

“River no, that’s not what I meant!” He called after her, hearts breaking from the hurt he saw in her eyes before she left. He quickly set the Old Girl into the vortex, before going to find River.

 

~*~*~*~

 

He hesitates when he reaches her door. He remembers this part, the early part. The how-will-I-ever-be-worthy part. His hearts are heavy, knowing that he’s hurt her with his rejection. She is young, and she is still vulnerable. She is recovering from a lifetime of trauma and inability to trust, and rejection has never been chicken soup for the soul. Slowly, he lifts his fist and _knocks, knocks, knocks_.

He hears a shuffling, and a weak, “Hold on!” from the other side of the door. He waits. The Time Lord waits for the only woman who could ever make him pause, to come to the door. Finally, the door slides open, and River stands before him, bare feet and eyes that refuse to meet his. He looks at her for a moment, taking her in and understanding, finally, how daft he has been in trying to give her time before he expresses too much affection toward her.

Gently, he touches a curled finger under her chin, and encourages her face to lift so his eyes can meet hers. She lets his hand guide her, and he looks directly into her eyes (her soul, her hearts, her mind, her.) Then, he does what she least expects, and leans down to press a soft, slow kiss to her mouth. The kiss starts small at first, but it is laced with so much love and longing that it makes four hearts race as though they were locked in a passionate embrace. The tip of his tongue slips out to proposition her bottom lip, which falls open in welcome. This kiss is not sloppy or speedy; this kiss is slow and sensual. So, when their tongues meet, it is not a battle for dominance. Rather, it is a sweet dance. The tips of their tongues slide together just so, just tasting, just curling, just craving. When they finally part, their lips are red and deliciously swollen, their hearts are pounding, and their eyes are glazed.

“River…” He sighs her name, his forehead against hers; eyes shut tightly, worry in his tone. She tries to prep herself for what she knows is coming. For some vague explanation about _spoilers_ and other things that will make her feel worse when they are supposed to make it better. She swallows the knot in her throat, and begins to play her role. “I know,” she whispers. “I know, I’m sorry, I –"

“Let me make love to you.” He whispers the words into her lips, desire and longing lacing his tone. It takes her a moment to process what he has said, what he is asking her with his eyes and with his hands that have drifted down to her shoulders, her hips, her backside where his fingertips graze slowly. “Please.” He adds his plea, and echoes it in his eyes that are glued to hers.

“Really?” She asks him, quietly, fearfully. She worries that he is only asking for her benefit. She worries that he is only asking because he feels obligated. She worries that he is only asking because, because, because. She worries no more when his mouth spills forth words that could melt her.

“River, I want you. I will _always_ want you. I want you in my life, in my TARDIS, in my heart, in my future, past, present, forever. I want you in my bed, under me, over me, next to me. I want you always, in all ways. But… I don’t want you this way.” And her hearts erupt in pain.

A hurt gasp escapes her, and he looks startled then, realizing the way that his words sounded. “No. No, no, no, no, no, that is not what I meant, River, I promise you.” She wants to run, but she does not care enough when there is nothing worse than the idea of not being wanted by The Doctor. 

“River, I mean that I don’t want you like _this_. Not now. This will be your first time with me. This might be my last time with you. I want to _love_ you. I want you to feel adored, and worshiped, and breathless. I don’t want you to feel regret or emptiness because you wanted me to want you so much that you didn’t let yourself have this. So please, River. Let me _make love_ to you, let me make you feel good, sweetheart.”

Her hearts are pounding; heat is slowly licking its way from her center and out to every nerve in every part of her body. She breathes a needy, “Ok.” And he kisses her deeply as soon as her lips drop the word.

They back up into her room, the door sliding shut behind them. His hands reach up to the straps of her dress, and gently tug them over her shoulders and release them. The dress pools at her feet, and she stands before him, all creamy soft skin, bright needy eyes, and delicate soft lace. A soft groan leaves his lips at the sight of her. She is beauty, and he is a blind man seeing for the first time.

Her hands, only slightly shaky, snake up to his shirt and begin to unbutton. She gets it undone, helps him out of it, and slips his braces over his shoulders next. He kisses her again, deeply and hungrily, and she gives back just as much as she gets. He toes off his boots and socks, and lifts her so that she can wrap her legs around him as he carries her to the bed. Their lips do not part.

Carefully, he lays her back on the bed, climbing on with her so that they do not have to separate. His lips move to kiss her face and jaw. His hands find purchase on her hips, and hers, in his hair. Her hips roll so that she can press against him where she needs him, and they both gasp at the contact.

His fingertips ghost over her hips, to the sensitive area right below her stomach, and eventually under lace, where they find their goal. Her hips buck at the first touch, and a whimper escapes her. He presses soft, wet kisses to her throat, to her collarbone, to each of her hearts. His hand continues working her most sensitive flesh, circling his thumb lightly around her clit, and slowly pushing two fingers into her. She bites her lip, trying to hold back the noises that are begging to pour from her mouth. He notices, and pulls his face up to hers, tugging her lip from her teeth with his own. “Let me hear you, sweetheart.” He whispers into her mouth. She nods rapidly and whimpers her assent. He moves his mouth down to her breasts, still guiding his fingers in a slow rhythm, and the tip of his tongue makes a pass at one of her nipples. She lets out a breathy moan, the sensations making her shudder. He closes his mouth around the nipple, and begins to suck lightly, occasionally grazing it with his teeth, before moving to the other nipple to repeat the process.

She is writhing beneath him now, her hips matching the rhythm of his fingers inside her, and he can feel her getting close, closer, _almost there,_ as her cries grow louder and more desperate. He lifts his mouth back to hers, kissing her tenderly and telling her, “Come for me, sweetheart. Let go.” His words work her over almost as well as his hands and mouth do, and she feels that coil inside of her prepare to spring. She shudders, and then shatters, and she is exquisite. “ _Yes_ , there it is.” He groans as his hand works her through her orgasm.

She is panting, dying, flying when her dark, hooded eyes come back into focus to meet his. A small, but pleased smile graces his lips. He slips his hand out of her and presses a soft kiss to the corner of her mouth. “Good girl.” He mumbles into her skin, and it shouldn’t make her want more, so it does, naturally.

She reaches down to the button of his trousers, taking note of his obviously aching erection and wanting to free him all the more quickly. She wants to bring him to the same pleasure he gave her. He helps her get the trousers off, and then helps her out of her knickers. 

They take each other in then, both completely bare and exposed and wanting. His eyes rake over her form, skin flushed and just a bit sweaty, legs stretched out in front of her and eyes gazing greedily at his body as well. She leans up to press an inviting kiss to his mouth. He positions himself, gently nudging her legs open for him, and they are pressed together, heart to heart to heart to heart. He kisses her lovingly, deeply, as he makes the move to connect their bodies. They both moan into the kiss, and he pauses, allowing them both to adjust.

He begins to move in slow, deep strokes and she begins to chant. His name, and _please_ , and _yes_ , and _more_. He is groaning and panting and _gripping_ at her pleas. His face is pressed into her neck, his noises reverberating against her and adding to the sensations. One hand has taken up residence in her hair, while the other one clings tightly to her hip, helping her roll and writhe and grind against him. Meanwhile, one of her hands grips tightly to the hair at the nape of his neck, while the other clings desperately to his shoulder, and her legs have wrapped around his back. 

His slow, deep strokes evolve into quicker, harder ones and they are both climbing higher and higher, so close to the peak and to tipping right over into oblivion. Their cries become higher in pitch and volume, and a raspy, “ _Doctor,_ ” falls from her lips. She is so close, _so close_ , and so full and it is all too much, her entire body is rocking with an almost too sweet pleasure.

“One more. Just come one more time for me, honey.” He pants into her shoulder, so close to reaching his own release. He adjusts his position to meet her where he knows she needs him, and slips his thumb between them to press on her clit.

She is falling again, singing again, over the edge she goes as her muscles tighten and her orgasm washes through her. He is not far off, body going ridged when she tightens around him, and with a few more movements he is diving over the edge after her, and he is crying out her name, like a plea, like a prayer.

They both collapse, limbs made of jelly, gasping for air and sticky with the sweat of their efforts. The Doctor places sweet, lingering kisses to River’s jaw, cheeks, eyes, and lips. River combs her fingers through his hair, feeling sated, and loved, and like she is the luckiest life form in the universe, the most cherished treasure from the deepest sea to the farthest star, and she has never been so satisfied as she is now.

He pulls out and rolls over, instantly regretting the loss of contact. But then River curls up to him, one arm draping over his stomach, one leg draping over his leg, one head of soft (now matted) curls resting against his shoulder. He leans down and kisses her head, more serene than the Time Lord ever thought he could ever be. 

“I… I love you, Doctor.” River says this, and he is stunned. She looks up at him, young eyes and glowing, post-coital skin. She continues, “I know that it’s not something you usually say, and I don’t need you to say it back… but I am in love with you, and I need to say it, for my own sake.”

He is impressed. He is awed. He is recognizing the woman she will become in the bravery and surety of what she has just said. His ancient eyes gaze at her, and he knows he will not deny her this simple pleasure, this right of hers, and so the words caress her lips when he kisses her and then says, “I’m in love with you too, River Song. Remember that, even when I can’t remember to say it.”

They curl up together; sleep finding them between kisses and whispered promises. The Time Lord and his lover, the only woman who could make _time_ wait for _her_. 

**Author's Note:**

> Thanks for reading! I hope you enjoyed! :) 
> 
> Disclaimer: I have no ownership of anything related to Doctor Who, except an ill-fitting shirt with the TARDIS on it, and a couple of lovely tote bags. But the characters and the concept of the show and all that... not mine. Which is probably a good thing. Also I'm not making any profit from this, sometimes I just get weird at 3:00 AM and do unexpected stuff, like apparently write fanfiction.


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